


The Bride

by Bitchmysaladispeople



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, Forced Marriage, Going nuts in the asylum, Graphic Violence, No Weddie, No redemption, None - Freeform, Rape/Non-con Elements, Re-upload of a work previously deleted, Woman in the asylum AU wow, another shocker, but if you want some indulgent trash come on in, if you want something new and interesting probably just go ahead and go, nasty nasty, sorry y'all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:14:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21576622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bitchmysaladispeople/pseuds/Bitchmysaladispeople
Summary: PREVIOUSLY REMOVED, RE-PUBLISHEDDr. Victoria Jones went to Mount Massive Asylum to do some good.Inevitably, it didn't pan out.
Relationships: Eddie Gluskin/Original Character(s), Eddie Gluskin/Original Female Character(s), my oc/suffering
Comments: 2
Kudos: 47





	1. Welcome Home (Way to go, Park)

Christ...this place...these...these things…

“Park,” she bit out, snapping her fingers to get the dazed man’s attention. He flinched at once, nearly jumping out of his skin, and she rolled her eyes. “Are you back, yet? Listen, we have to go.”

“What do you think those psychos were talking about?” He whispered. “The groom? Who’s he?”

“Someone I don’t think we want to meet, Park, now let’s go. Don’t get caught up in the little things, it’s probably nothing. Or if it’s not, hopefully nothing we ever get to the bottom of. Now listen. We need to get to admin, right? Right?”

“Right,” he agreed, shakily. “Right. Let’s...let’s go.”

He brought up his camera, and she smacked the bottom of her flashlight until the wavering yellow light came on. Crazed doctors, swarming ghosts, cannibals...it’d been a long night.

Waylon Park, former consulting encryptor turned interned patient at Mount Massive Mental Asylum, teamed with Dr. Victoria Jones, or her alias, Dr. Margot Rodgers, who’d been trying to take down the corrupted place from the inside when it all fell to shit. And it had, oh, it had certainly fallen to shit.

Their escape was continually foiled, and the next best option was the administration block, where they’d hopefully find their exit. Waylon would get back to his kids, Victoria would get back to her work, and Mount Massive would be torn apart brick by brick until nothing but the rotted foundation stood, and collapsed under the weight of its own vile corruption. Hopefully. But they had to get to admin first.

Their walk was deceptively peaceful, until they came across a horrendous display. A man, mutilated in a parody of birth, his own head--what Victoria assumed was his head--resting between mutilated thighs. Waylon took a moment to vomit, while she gripped her flashlight a little tighter.

Not too long ago, they’d been chased by patients muttering about _The Groom_ , about giving ‘The man with the camera’ to him. Either the fixation on Wayland was based on some preference of this psychopath, or they hadn’t yet learned about Victoria, always two steps behind--she wasn’t sure which she preferred, but either way, she had a feeling he was behind it.

“Park,” she orated, keeping her voice firm. “We need to go.”

This time, likely fearing the status of his own thighs, he agreed, and hastily began their exit.

Park was quick to try the doors as they entered a new room, glad to leave the sight and the smell of what Victoria was mentally calling ‘the delivery room’ behind. She looked around, scanning the corners.

“Any luck?” She requested.

“Well Christ, Vic, don’t you think I would have told you if--” He broke off with a shout, backing away from the door he’d been testing.

“Hello, darling,” came a new voice.

“Jesus-fuck!” Park cursed, backing off to join Victoria in a run as the new horror came through. She didn’t get a good look at him--didn’t really have to, she knew he was no friend.

“Darling, where are you running off to?”

“Stay the fuck away from me!” Park shouted, looking over his shoulder.

“Don’t taunt him,” Victoria criticized, reaching back to grab him by the collar. “Come on!”

Once they made it into a new room, Victoria yanked Park down behind some cover, tipping his jaw up so that his heavy breaths were less audible and raising her own chin to do the same.

Their reprieve was brief, unfortunately--this new guy was fast, that was for sure. But his footsteps came slow, even, and so very unfortunately loud.

“Did I scare you? I’m awfully sorry, I didn’t mean to. Have we met, before? I feel like we have. But being here, with you...it’s like a dream. Come out, darling, please.”

Ah. Here was their groom.

That was it, for Park, he lost his cool and sprinted off. The groom’s answering reply was triumphant, and she let out a small growl.

“Park, you idiot ,” she criticized, following the sound of his feet hitting the floor. The groom’s footsteps paused.

“Darling...who is that, with you? I hear...I hear…”

So he hadn’t known. Great. She maintained that it was Park’s fault, and ducked into the locker beside the one she could hear him in. And it wasn’t just her who could hear him, of course not, because the groom was recovered from his shock.

“Ah, darling, you can’t hide from me. I can smell you!” She flinched, hearing Park’s locker slam against the floor. “You’ve made yourself a gift for me...to be unwrapped...and unwrapped again...and savored .”

She heard the grating of the locker against the floor and watched through the slats as the groom pulled a--surprisingly--silent Park away. She could see the telltale blisters on his face, which meant he’d been subjected to the Walrider project, at least in some capacity. Aside from that...well, he was dressed like a groom, that was for certain. And he was tall. And he was muscular. And that wasn’t good at all.

She waited as long as she could before exiting, now resigned to saving Park’s stupid ass from death, or maybe something worse. She thought of the note they’d found outside of the building before they’d fallen through the damn ceiling right into it.

Kill us. Burn the building. Worse than death here. Kill us. Kill us.

__

**Twelve Hours Later**

If she had a dollar for every dead body she’d seen in this place, not even the endless riches would be able to buy her way out of this fucking mess.

The workaround she’d needed to even find the groom’s lair had been maddening, and happened to involve the cannibal, who got a good slice into her left shoulder. But, bleeding and cursing her weak flashlight, she’d followed the sound of a circular saw. The halls of the Vocational Area were covered in blood, spelling out hymns for a new bride-- A woman’s work is never done, There’s No Place like Home, and all the similar ideas. Like wallpaper in a den of corpses. At least it was brighter, now, as she made her way through. The saw had been quiet for a while. She hoped that didn’t spell out something less than fortunate for Park. She needed him if she wanted Mount Massive to get exposed, and furthermore, he had a family waiting for him. He didn’t deserve to die at the hands of a psychopath, even if he was annoying the shit out of her.

Her flashlight decided to flicker just as she shined it on a shady corner, and she sighed, smacking it.

“This is the last thing I need right now, flashlight,” she criticized, intensifying her blows a bit. “We’ve got work to do, c’mon.”

“Having troubles, darling?”

She nearly jumped out of her skin, turning, looking around wildly, but she couldn’t see him. It had been the groom, though, it had to of been. Her shoulders tightened defensively, and she started edging her way towards a nearby door.

“There’s no use running, I’ll find you. I’ll always find you, you have my word.”

Ah, she understood Park a bit more, now, and decided to book it, slamming her way through the door. The footsteps were quick behind her, but she was a woman on a mission and refused to give in to the strain in her calves. Or maybe that was due to the joyous laughter behind her, threatening in its innocent glee.

As she barrelled through a new door, she was once more overcome by the stench of decay, and the crimson feast before her would definitely have made Park throw up. If he weren’t strapped to a table, nude, with a circular saw dangerously close to his genitals.

“Oh, god, Vic.”

She jogged over to him, brow furrowed, tearing at the cuff around his wrist.

“Let’s go, Park, c’mon--” 

“Vic, you need to go, he’s--I didn’t think he’d find you, I’m sorry, Jesus Christ, I’m sorry--” 

“Quit apologizing and give me a hand, would you? And can you please go two minutes without making a heinous mistake and almost getting me killed?”

“Darling, I would never,” the groom assured from somewhere behind, just as she got Park’s arm free. She spun, gripping the surgical table behind her. “You’re completely safe,” he promised, coming closer.

“Then why do you have a knife ?” She requested, as Park struggled to free his other hand.

“This? Oh.” The groom glanced at the knife in his hands, slick with blood. “This is a scalpel, actually.”

“Just as dangerous,” she countered. “You’re...you’re frightening me.” Now Park was at his feet. Good.

“Oh, I am sorry. I just didn’t want to lose you again. I didn’t realize how important you are--but he told me, it’s alright. Now I know.”

“I’m not important,” she promised, as Park fell to the floor, thankfully unscathed. “He lied to you.”

The groom’s face darkened, for a moment, and he paused. Vic was sure he’d snapped, and he’d be running after them murderously again, but instead, he coiled, slightly.

“Did he, now? I was hoping you already had what I need, but I suppose I can fix you. You’re much prettier, you know.”

“What do you need?” She requested, hoarsely, as Park tugged his pants on.

“I need a bride,” he offered, grinning, white teeth exposed. Park grabbed his camera, and she turned, eyes wide.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, before turning and running , leaving her with the groom. She let out a small yelp and dove under the table, desperate to escape, but a hand closed around her ankle.

“Darling, please, I know it’s intimidating--a lot of women get cold feet, it’s only natural. After the procedure, we can have the--” he grunted, pulling her out from under the table and turning her onto her back, heedless to her thrashing. “--ceremony. I really need you to stop struggling, now.”

When she didn’t, he let out a little growl, taking both wrists in one hand and pinning them above her head. Her breath hitched.

“What--what procedure?” 

“The one that will let us have children, darling. We’ll remove anything vulgar , and then I’ll be able to plant my seed in you, and from that seed, our family will grow.”

She gasped, struggling anew, freezing when the knife came into view.

“Wait!” She begged. “Wait, wait--I--I don’t need a procedure!” 

“Of course you do, darling, don’t be silly. It’ll only hurt for a moment.”

“No! No, please, I...I have what you need, I already have what you need. What...what we need, to have a family.”

“He was...telling the truth?” The groom cocked his head. “You told me he lied. So which is it? Is he a liar, or are you?!” The grip on her wrists tightened, and she closed her eyes tightly for a moment, tears slipping out.

“I...I was scared,” she choked out. “I didn’t want anyone...taking advantage. M-my mother always told me to...to wait,” she swallowed, “to wait for the right man.”

After a moment, his grip softened, and he sighed, smiling.

“I knew you were different. Not like those other girls, those whores. You’re pure, I knew it. Don’t worry. I’ll make an honest woman of you. But...forgive me, darling, I have to be sure. I don’t trust you to stay still...so let’s see.”

He eventually hauled her up on the table of Park’s near emasculation, strapping her into the same restraints. The saw was off, though. Thank god.

“Now, don’t worry, darling. I know you don’t want to be showing your garden to those who are unworthy, but I promise, the second we’re sure, we’ll be married.”

He brought the knife around, and she strained, for a moment, and a flicker of anger crossed his face.

“P-please, not with the knife--sorry, the scalpel? I...I don’t have any other clothes.”

“Ah, of course. Silly me. Sometimes I just get so excited .” He dropped the blade, and carefully pulled her undershirt out of her pants, rolling it up over her blouse, exposing her soft stomach. He let out a shaky breath, placing his hand on the exposed skin.

“So smooth,” he praised, “so soft.”

He tugged down her slacks, and she shivered as the cool air hit her. He sucked in a breath, and placed a shaky hand over her panties.

“Oh...darling...you’re just what I’ve been looking for. I knew I’d find you. You’re not like the other girls, those whores .” Then, he frowned. “Why are you shivering?”

“It’s cold,” she bit out, anxiously spitting the half-truth. It was cold. There was also a serial killer with his hand on her cunt, separated by her panties and her panties alone. “And...and I’m nervous.”

She tried not to ask it like a question. Her answer seemed to satisfy, and internally, she sagged with relief. That was the angle he wanted, then? She could play it from there, no problem. He removed his hand, almost reluctantly, and pulled her pants back up.

“It’s perfectly natural to be nervous. But I’m here now.” He sat on the edge of the table, rolling her shirt down. “I’ll take care of you, darling.”

“There…” She swallowed. “There’s a lot of bad people, in here.”

He sighed, nodding, placing a hand on her leg. It wasn’t as intimate as the previous touch, not nearly, so she tried not to cringe.

“I know,” he agreed, in an almost consoling way.

“I have to get out of here. Away from those bad people.” His hand tightened, slightly.

“You’re not going anywhere.”

They sat in the quiet, for a moment, and then he stood.

“Let’s get you out of here, darling. No reason for you to see all this.”

She made to slide off the table, but he caught her before she could, pulling her into a bridal carry. She winced, earning a frown.

“What is it?”

“My...shoulder. Just a scrape.”

He furrowed his brow, picking up the pace slightly.

He brought her to a...shockingly preserved room, undamaged walls, a nice desk, clean carpets, and an out-of place bed that was a bit dingy, covered by a patchwork blanket. He eased her into an armchair, and assessed her arm.

“You need to be more careful, darling,” he chided, tearing a scrap of fabric off of his shirt to wrap around the room. “I can’t stand the idea of you suffering.”

She didn’t reply, watching him warily instead. He smiled. “Better?”

“Yes. Yes, thank you.” 

“There’s no need to thank me. It’s my job to take care of you.” His fingertips grazed her jawbone. “So pretty. So, so pretty.”

He sighed, pulling away. “I have a few errands to run, darling. You should get some rest. It’s been a busy day.”

“Wait! I...don’t you think we should exchange names?”

He tilted his head. “Waylon said you were Vic.”

“Victoria,” she amended, earning a large smile. “Uh...Jones. Victoria Jones.” 

“ Perfect name. Perfect.”

He turned to leave, and she sat forward.

“What...honey, what’s yours?” 

“That’s not important.” 

“I...I should know what my new last name’ll be, right?”

He seemed stalled, for a moment, and then finally shifted. “Mrs. Eddie Gluskin,” he mused. “Get some rest,” he repeated, before slipping out. She heard the door lock, and let out a breath of relief.

The door was a no-go, regardless of how much she tried. The window was boarded to hell and back, and she was sure that working sores into her fingers would only come off as suspicious. So, finally, after scoping the room for anything, anything at all , she curled up on the bed, shoes discarded on the floor. She wouldn’t be running any time soon. And she was so... so tired.

__

"When I was a boy my mother often said to me: ‘Get married, son, and see how happy you will be.’ ” Victoria shifted, the low singing invading her mind. “I have looked all over, but no girlie can I find, who seems to be just like the little girl I have in mind; I will have to look around until the right one I have found." A heavy weight settled on the bed, and she let out a small groan.

“You’ve been asleep for such a long time, darling. I’m almost worried for you.”

She stiffened, opening her eyes in a quick flash, cringing at the light. She hummed again, pressing her face against the mattress. She was still in the hands of a psychopath. A psychopath who chuckled, setting a hand on her blanket-covered leg.

“Victoria,” he chided, and a shiver ran down her spine. “Wake up.”

He was playful, and that was better than psychopathic. She sat up, pressing her palms into her eyes, and blew a breath out through her nose.

“I’m sorry I slept for so long.” 

“Oh, no reason to apologize, darling. You needed your beauty sleep. But, since you’re awake...let’s go take you to freshen up, hmm?”

“What?” She blinked at him.

“The showers, of course. I set up a stall for you.” 

“But...is that safe?”

“You’re always safe with me. Shall we?” He offered her a hand as he stood.

She didn’t want to. She really didn’t. But argument wouldn’t help, she could sense it. So she climbed out of the comparative safety of the bed, pulled on her shoes, and took his hand.

He led her through the asylum with confidence--staggering confidence, really. They ended up in a tiny shower room, which must’ve been for employees. It was relatively clean, but there was blood in the grout that implied there’d been some cleaning up. She certainly wasn’t going to complain about it.

“No curtains, sadly. I’ll turn around, scout’s honor.”

Her eyes widened.

“E-Eddie, do you...do you think that’s appropriate? I just…” She watched his eyes darken and balked. “I don’t want you to think I’m that kind of girl.”

The anger ebbed, just like that, and she could have cheered. He smiled, that same, charming smile. “Ah, darling. Of course, you’re not. But, I’ll be your husband soon. There’s no reason to worry. Besides, I promised I wouldn’t look. So you just take care of your feminine needs. I brought you everything you need.

So he turned, and she stripped, stepping underneath a torrent of hot water. Abrasive, clinical-smelling soap cleared the grime and blood from her skin, the blood from her hair. She hissed, slightly, running over all her cuts and bruises.

“Darling? Are you alright?” Eddie turned, slightly, and she jumped to cover herself.

“I’m fine! Just--my shoulder, I’m washing it.”

“Do you need help?” 

“N-no, no, it’s...it’s all clean!”

“Alright. Whatever you say.” He straightened, and she resigned herself to finish quickly.

He turned back once she gave him the all-clear, towel firmly around her frame. Even still, his gaze drank her up, taking her in.

“Feeling better?”

Actually, she was. She nodded to confirm, glad to be rid of the dirt and the blood and god-knows-what else. “Much cleaner,” she elaborated. He smiled, proudly.

“I’m happy if you’re happy, darling. Now, I’d hate to have you back in your dirty clothes now that you’re so much cleaner...I’ve made you something.”

_No, keep your crazy ass clothes away from me, I’m pulling on my own shit._ She smiled, instead, hesitantly.

“I...that’s so kind of you,” she enthused. He was pleased, clear as day.

“It’s a man’s job to provide for his family.”

“Let me just keep my underthings?” 

“Of course .” He...blushed? He blushed, slightly, at the mention.

__

It was long. At least?

The patchwork dress was not half bad, actually. It was attractive enough and entirely functional--and he’d made it in an asylum while deranged. She could accept a risky neckline, it had pockets. She told him it was beautiful, and he hummed with his pleasure. It was interesting...he was such a lonely person, that even psychotic as he was, small praise was enough to get him on the hook and keep him there. Right where she needed him.

He gave her a can of soup, and jesus, it tasted good--maybe she was just starving. Then, he deposited her back in the room, but with pockets came power, and she had a fork and a lot of time alone, and those nails were begging to be pried up.

It might’ve taken two hours, might’ve taken ten minutes. Either way, she found her way out into the steely darkness of the night, and she was free of the nightmare Park had left her to. Free of the groom. Unfortunately, she’d lost her flashlight.

__

I’m going to die, and he’s going to eat me. Fantastic.

It’d been a long night. She’d spent most of her time trying to get to admin through the labyrinth of the facility, but the cannibal was back. And he was...faster than ever.

“I can smell you,” he hissed. “You can’t hide forever, meat. Meat, meat, meat. I’ll eat you up!”

She darted out from behind her cover, and his hand found her hair, gripping it tightly. She let out a roar of indignation, using her heel to kick at his exposed crotch. He released her with a howl, and she skittered away.

“You’re mine!” He bellowed. “You’re--”

“She belongs to me,” a dark voice interjected, and Victoria’s racing heart seized. The cannibal went looking for the voice, but she skittered back, stumbling to stand and running as fast as she could. There were worse things than death, things she didn’t want to know. She heard the wet sound of the groom’s blade hitting home, and slid through an open door.

Eddie Gluskin was tall, well-built, and completely off his rocker. There was no way that Victoria Jones, moderately tall, with the body of a doctor, scared out of her mind, could compete with him. She couldn’t run forever.

“Darling! Don’t run from me!”

A shiver ran down her spine, and she barrelled through a side door, slamming it behind her. She was spat into a locker room--perfect, for a second, but then she remembered Park. Then again, the groom probably remembered Park, too, and there were a lot of lockers. On her way to the supply closet at the back of the room, she opened and closed a few lockers, hoping the volume would draw him over to them. Give her time to think.

She was just barely inside when the door opened. “ Darling, ” he enthused, “you can’t hide from me. Why are you running from me? From us? Like the rest of them...those sluts . You’re not like them, are you?” She heard the first locker open and close.

“Hmm. Where are you?”

He was getting closer. There was no way out of the closet, and if he opened it, she was dead. She waited until she heard a locker open, took a deep breath, and made her break for it. She, thankfully, picked the right row to run down, the empty one.

“There you are! Darling, stop running from me!”

She’d made it out. Now, she was back to her original issue--where to go? She poured all her energy into getting some distance, any distance, while he was at her heels. She had a feeling that, when he caught her, she’d be dead. Seeing as she was acting like such a slut.

Between his distracting footsteps, the asylum’s haphazard construction, and her inability to know where she was going in the near darkness, it was inevitable that she found herself faced by a dead end. No doors, no turns, no way to go back, just an open window, curtains fluttering. They were too many floors up. She’d break her legs, her neck, maybe. She was sitting on the sill by the time she realized that, chewing her bottom lip.

She’d run from him, and his pathology suggested that wouldn’t be forgiven so easily. She thought of the man with his head between his thighs, and slung one leg over. Maybe, with her bleeding, stumpy legs, she could crawl to safety. Ha .

The footsteps stopped, and she turned, spying the groom, frozen halfway down the hall. He held up a hand-- stop. His gaze was frantic, moreso than she’d ever seen it.

“Darling,” he articulated, drawing out the word. “You’re frightened. I think that...that evil thing, he confused you. You must think I’m like him, that’s why you ran. You’re confused. Now, if you jump down there, you’ll hurt yourself. Darling, I might not be able to fix you.”

“I don’t need fixing,” she fired back, gripping the sill.

“Of course not,” he chuckled. “You just need your husband to help you make sense of things. Come here, now, Victoria. Don’t do something we’ll both regret.”

She considered the courtyard, again. There was no way she would survive, and the groom hadn’t driven her to measures quite so desperate. She wondered if she’d regret spitting in the face of the opportunity, and slid off of the sill, her feet finding grateful purchase on the floor. His strides were even, then, quick, firm. She backed up until she hit the wall, chest tight. The second she was within grabbing distance, he took her arm, tugging her backwards as he spun her, putting himself between her and the window before he brought his other hand up, and held her shoulders firmly.

“You can’t frighten me like that, darling. What if you’d been seriously hurt? What if you’d jumped ?” She remained tense in his arms, and tears started pouring down her cheeks. It’d been too long a night, and now she was right back where she started. Worse, actually. He sighed, bringing his thumbs up to wipe at the tears. “Now don’t cry . You know, I would be well within my rights to be very, very angry with you, Victoria.” She closed her eyes, letting out a silent sob.

“Shh, shh. Hush, now. I can’t stay mad at you, darling, you’re forgiven.” he pulled her close, pressing her face against his blood-spattered vest, and the sobs shook through her. He rubbed her back, worsening the flood of feelings rushing through her.

“Come on, then. Let’s get you home.” He swung her into a bridal carry and carried her back, stepping over the corpse of the cannibal as he did so.

__

She stared at her hands while he hummed, boarding up the window fervently. Much much tighter than before, layer after layer. He left a small gap at the top, enough for sunlight, as he explained.

After he finished, he turned to her, frowning.

“There’s something wrong, isn’t there?” 

“No, no,” she assured, quietly. “I’m just...tired.” 

“I imagine you are, after your little adventure.” He crossed his arms. “I need to examine you.” Her head snapped up.

“What?”

“Well, who knows what you got up to while you were gone? We have to be sure nothing’s damaged.”

“No!” She rushed. “No, I’m--I’m fine.”

“That sounds an awful lot like an argument, Victoria. After all we’ve been through today? After all I’ve forgiven? I don’t think you realize,” he took a step towards her, and there was nothing she could do to defuse this. “It is the place of the husband to take care of his family, to mind his wife and his children, and you haven’t been listening very well at all. I suggest you give it a rest, for tonight, as I’m not interested in playing .” He clenched his jaw. “Your... underthings are fine, but you need to take off your dress. Now.”

She wanted to cry again, seriously. Instead, she stood, biting the inside of her cheek. He didn’t soften, he was still angry. She could’ve screamed.

She slipped off the dress, leaving herself pretty much exposed, eyes closed tightly.

“Good,” he praised, quietly. She kept her eyes tightly closed, arms around herself, flinching when his warm fingers landed on her hip. “You’re awfully bruised. Still, though. Gorgeous .” She swore it was his nose that ran over her shoulder, and then he was behind her, not touching, but just barely.”

“I have forgiven you, Victoria,” he murmured. “You can put your dress back on. I only wanted to make sure you were alright.”

“Thank you,” she practically breathed, feeling his presence slip away. She didn’t waste any time pulling on the dress, turning to face him once she was covered. He slunk down in the armchair he’d once deposited her in.

“It’s not...proper, for a man and a woman to share a bed before the wedding night,” he explained. “You’re not going anywhere. Get your beauty sleep.”

So, she slid underneath the blanket, closing her eyes when he started to sing again.

At least she had one less psycho to worry about. Then again, it’d probably be Park that benefited from her deranged obsessive’s good work. She curled in on herself and didn’t fight sleep.


	2. I Always Cry at Weddings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victoria's getting smarter. She hopes.

Victoria didn’t find consistent rest, that night. She woke in the middle of it, to moonlight streaming through the pitiful remains of the window, and sat up in bed, eyes searching for something. Something else. Something safe. Instead, she found the walls of the room. And the groom, staring at her intently.

“You shouldn’t be awake yet,” he murmured, lowly.

“Sleep is hard,” she sighed, sitting upright. “We don’t get along.” 

“Pardon?” 

“Sleep and I.” She ran a hand through her hair. There was a moment of silence.

“Tell me about my bride.” 

“What do you want to know?” 

“How did you come here? Were you a patient?”

“No.” She shook her head. “I was trying to stop the doctors. I didn’t manage to do it, though.”

“You can’t understand how absolutely lucky I am that you’re here.” She smiled, a bitter thing, but he didn’t realize that. No, he slipped out of his chair and crawled over to the bed, on his knees before her. “We’ll have a glorious family, darling. You’ll look so beautiful mothering my children.”

Her jaw tightened.

“We can’t have children here, Eddie.” There was that anger, but she welcomed it. She wanted it, more than anything. “This place is going down, maybe not today, but soon enough. It’ll burn, and we’ll burn with it. You don’t want that for our children. Do you, honey?” She crawled towards him, coming closer, unafraid. Maybe it was her middle-of-the-night bravery, observed only in times of great insomnia. She put her hand on the undamaged side of her face. “You can protect me from a lot of things, but there are...there are things, here, things that not even you can beat. The Walrider will come for us, sooner or later, and there’ll be nothing we can do to--”

He lunged, suddenly, and in an instant was pinning her to the bed with a hand on her throat.

“Shh, Shh. Hush now,” he repeated. “We will be married, you will accept my seed, and the children that blossom from our union will be safe. Do you understand me?”

She choked out a laugh, tears streaming down her face. He didn’t let her go, and her vision eventually faded into the sweet black of nothingness.

__

There were reverent hands stroking her skin. Also, her wrists hurt, and there was something in her mouth.

She groaned, struggling past a haze to open her eyes, fingers still warm on the skin of her cheek. The groom was kneeling in front of her.

“Darling,” he purred, brightly. “You’re awake. I missed you while you were sleeping, you know. Do you remember our fight last night? Shh, that’s alright, I know you do. I shouldn’t have lost my temper like that, but you really didn’t give me any choice. That’s why today, you’re going to have more time to think than talk. Now--it’s not permanent, I love your voice, but I have work to do today. So, you’re going to stay here--just like this--and I’ll be back soon. I’m finishing your dress, today.”

She tried to speak, but it came muffled. She was gagged.

“Calm down, now, darling, we wouldn't want you getting hysterical,” he chided, smiling sweetly, sickeningly, as he held her chin in a crushing grip. “I’ll be back soon, just as soon as I can.”

He stood, and she strained a bit, trying to follow him. Her arms were far above her head, strained, slightly, tied at the wrist.

“I know it’s not the most comfortable position--but women sometimes suffer more than men, it’s your burden to bear. Like I said--take this time to think. And remember...I love you.” He smiled again before turning, leaving, heedless of her muffled protests, closing the door behind him. She was in...fuck, it must’ve been some sort of closet, there was barely any light. She was kneeling, but there was a towel bundled up underneath her knees. How sweet of him. She could hardly move, and what little she could caused her a great deal of pain. So there was only one thing to do.

Kneel.

And think.

__

It was long past dark by the time the door opened again, and she startled, afraid it was some random patient who was going to find her in this position. Instead, it was Eddie, and she was so relieved to see him. She’d been certain he’d left her there to die tied like that, and tears started pouring from her eyes just at the sight of him, as she strained to get closer. She was crying a lot, here lately. Maybe it was because Park wasn’t there to do all the pussying out for them both, so she had to take on his burdens.

“Oh, darling,” he chuckled, “are you happy to see me? Let’s get you down from there, hmm?”

He cut her arms free, first, and she collapsed forward, muscles burning, groaning in pain. He muttered something soothing and rubbed her sore shoulder blades.

“Maybe that was too long,” he mused. “Well, for next time.”

She let out a loud, muffled complaint, and he paused. “Oh, no, darling, I told you--it’s not permanent. But maybe this is a good way to resolve our disagreements . Give us both some space to think. But I think we’ve resolved this issue, haven’t we?”

Yes, she tried to assure him, yes, yes, god, yes . He pulled the gag out of her mouth tenderly.

“There we are,” he greeted. “Let’s go and get you freshened up, hmm?”

She was slower, in the shower, because her arms wouldn’t reach, but he was patient with her, keeping his back turned, keeping his word. Her original clothes were returned, somewhat cleaner, though still bloodstained. Better than nothing. Infinitely better than nothing.

He carried her again, and she was starting to think he just liked carrying things, ultimately deposition her on the bed. She winced, rolling onto her side rather than her back.

“Something wrong?” He tilted his head, and she cringed. “Ah, your poor shoulders. Let me make it better.” His hands started kneading at her--touch feather-light and still probing pain. She buried her face in the blanket to avoid any unsavory displays, and he continued his work over bruised, sore muscles, chattering away about the work he was doing. The gown, the wedding , how happy he was to have finally found her. It was all greek but his hands, and how uncomfortably happy she was to be out of the damn closet. He kissed her on the forehead, and she didn’t even move, she was so happy. He tucked her into the bed, and she relaxed into it. It was bliss. Comparatively. And wasn’t that something?

__

The next few days were...tenuous. She spent a lot of time sitting in that room , a lot of time listening to the groom babble about marriage, and a bit of time witnessing horrid murders. Most remarkably, she was spending time in the closet. Her thinking closet, Eddie called it. He put her in it until she started to think he was less awful.

It had happened because she’d tried to run. Again. He was elbow-deep in a corpse at the time, and...well, it’d seemed like a perfect opportunity. She hadn’t made it far, and he’d dragged her back to the closet.

You’re acting like such a whore! Like all the rest of them--I know you’re different! Why are you fighting our love?!

All the rest of them were dead, split open and mutilated, strung up like streamers in the gym and wherever else Eddie was interested in hanging them. She was different, but only in that she was smarter. Right? She was smarter, right?

She’d bet on the fact that he waited longer, this time. A lot longer. When he finally came, her genuine relief was topped by a delicate layer of fabrication, and she laced her hands around his neck when he carried her. She wasn’t a fan of the closet, of its darkness, its contrite positioning. She wasn’t a fan of much that was happening to her, here lately, of this groom, of the asylum, none of it, none of it was very cheer-worthy.

As long as the groom was alive, she wasn’t leaving him.

Stepping over his corpse seemed increasingly unlikely.

There was really only one option, as far as she saw. He promised to be a different man, a better man. Vowed that marriage soothed the soul. And, like his finger-paintings always reminded her, happy wife, happy life.

She’d have to get married.

She whispered as much to him after her shower, when he was soothing the aching muscles of her back, pressing into her skin rhythmically, gently.

“Honey,” she murmured, hiding her eyes in the crook of her elbow. “I’m sick and tired of not being married to you.”

He paused, but not for long, and brought his face closer to her ear. She could feel his breath on the back of her neck.

“Oh... darling .” It was a heady purr, a whispered murmur, a twisted attempt at seduction. “You have no idea how happy that makes me.”

She didn’t reply, and he didn’t stop, but the entire affair was going to come to a head soon enough.

__

“Now--you’ll put on your dress and then come right through here. All you’ll have to do is walk straight down the aisle to your groom!”

Victoria spared him a glance, finally, forcing a smile over a flat expression. “Sounds easy.”

“Easiest thing in the world darling,” he assured. “Ah--I want to see your reaction to your gown the first time you see it, but it’s against tradition.” He ran a reverent hand over the sheet-covered dressing dummy, clad in her wedding dress.

“I’m sure it’s wonderful,” she enthused, flat down deep inside, hollow in a place he couldn’t reach. He was grinning like a kid at Christmas. It was just a means to an end, an attempt to get a leash on this man.

“I’m sure you’re nervous, darling, but don’t let anticipation get the better of you. Hmm?”

It was a fair point. The room in between the altar and freedom was a metaphoric purgatory, but opening one door wouldn’t close the other. If she ran, she wouldn’t escape the wedding, she’d just prevent it. She’d just give him more time to drive her crazy with soft touches and rough ones, blood and sinew and patchwork blankets. If she went to the altar, however...well, he was a real believer in the sanctity of marriage. What kind of wife would run from her husband? The kind she was desperate to be, but that's beside the point.

“I won’t,” she assured, and he let his fingertips graze her jawbone.

“Soon, we won’t be restricted. We’ll belong entirely to each other, forever.”

“I know,” she murmured. He stayed, for a moment, before pulling back, grinning.

“I’ll see you at the altar, darling!” He cheered, slipping out of the room. As quickly as she could, she tore the sheet off the dummy, and let out a shaky laugh at what her eyes found.

Big, bombastic, made out of sheets or straight jackets, stained, stitched, but ultimately, well-sewn. The gauze of the veil reminded her of the fluttering curtains outside of her last real shot at freedom, and she laughed again. She’d like to push Eddie Gluskin out a window. Or, hell, maybe jump with him. Maybe his rotting corpse would cushion her fall. Or, maybe they’d die like that, her on top of him, patchwork dress fluttering in the wind before they slapped against the pavement.

No. He might like that too much.

__

It had already been established that Eddie was an adept tailor, but the dress was actually rather impressive. She noted his talent in an oblique way, something less tangible than compliment, but not quite so abstract as to envision an alternate universe where he just made clothes, rather than making them for his butchered victims. She felt rather trussed up by the end of it and supposed that was the point.

Women dream of their weddings from the time they’re little girls, don’t they?

She had, when she was indeed little. She’d always pictured getting married in the woods, something private, barefoot. But she’d grown out of that and into a lab coat too quickly to reconcile the groom and the picture of the perfect wedding, so really, she didn’t have any delusions to share with Eddie. Maybe that was good, in the end.

She gave the freedom door a lingering look and put on the damned dress. After that, a few moment’s pause, and then on to the wedding.

She wasn’t sure when the groom became friends with the priest. Maybe they bonded over wall art. But there they were at the end, the former grinning ear to ear, the latter with a serene smile. It was distinctly unnerving, and unhelped by the mutilated corpses filling the makeshift pews. She was the most recent in a long line of brides, and she’d never been more aware of that. How many corpses had worn this gown before he altered it to fit her?

The groom took her hands the second she was within range, still with his wild grin. He passionately repeated the vows from the father, which weren’t quite like she remembered.

I promise to love you and watch over you, from now until my death. I promise to keep you, now and always. For better or for worse, I will stand by you always.

Her repetition lacked something integral, but all that mattered was the I do . And she did, apparently. He put one hand on her cheek, the other on the small of her back, and dipped her down for the kiss. She would’ve shaken, so she kept her hands on his shoulders. The groom finally had himself a bride.

When he finally pulled away, it was just barely enough to speak, and he kept her dipped.

“Time for the wedding night, darling. Aren’t you excited to start our family?”

An obscene laugh bubbled out of her throat, and one of her hands grazed over the unmarred side of his face.

“Yeah, honey,” she managed, through the chuckles. “ So excited.”

He didn’t waste any time pulling her into a bridal carry, and she wrapped her arms around his neck. No more closets, no more running. She wanted to make it out alive, and she wasn’t going to do it alone.

And so, the groom took his bride for their honeymoon.

She wasn’t free of his arms until he deposited her on the bed, and as he did, he followed, caging her down with his body.

“ Darling, ” he purred, “you’ve made me the happiest man in the world.”

“You have no idea how I feel, Eddie, to finally be your wife.”

He tucked his face into her neck, pressing his lips against her skin, oh-so-gently, oh-so-sweetly. She brought a knee up to frame his hips, tilting her head back and her body towards him. Begging quietly, mapping the ceiling with her gaze. He was intent, however, on bringing her back to the present, as his muttered compliments inched down her skin.

“You aren’t nervous, are you, darling?”

“I’m nervous,” she admitted, but kept a tentative smile on her lips.

“I’ll take care of everything .”

He pulled back, slightly, and slowly rucked her dress up over her knees, settling his hands on the joints, spreading them. She followed his movements until she was bared invitingly, and his eyelids fluttered closed.

“Just think,” he nearly breathed, “my seed will flower within you. Our children will be beautiful .”

“Yes,” she agreed. He fussed with his trousers for a moment before advancing anew, tucking his face back into her neck as he thrust inside. She jerked upwards at the dry, sudden intrusion, biting the inside of her cheek. With a shaky hand, she came up to grip his hair, and he let out a long, low moan against her skin.

He was quick, thankfully. He came inside of her and let out a final groan, praising her, asking her if she knew what she did to him. As he collapsed on top of her, she wrapped her arms around him, turning them to their sides. She buried her own face in his chest, wondering if she’d done something smart, or something horribly, horribly wrong.

__

Sleep had taken a long time to come, with Mr. Gluskin in the bed with her, but eventually, it did. Troubled dozing was pulled from her in the morning, however, which came far too soon, as he started to pull her dress up again. She opened her eyes, waiting for the rough pain, but instead, a warm hand settled on her stomach, and she felt rough lips on her shoulder.

No sense playing dumb. She hummed, letting him know she was awake.

“Good morning, Mrs. Gluskin.” 

“Good morning, Mr. Gluskin.” Her voice was a bit raw, a bit hoarse. His hand migrated downwards, resting over her cunt.

“I waited such a long time to find you, you know. You’re more perfect than I could have ever imagined you.”

“And I’m yours,” she murmured. He let out a groan, not unlike the one he’d climaxed with. He was an instrument, and she would learn to play him.

“I need to see you,” he decided, withdrawing at once. Dread settled in her stomach as he manipulated her onto her back, knees high and spread, draped in the fabric of her wedding gown. He was in between her legs, eyes hungry and intent. She knew for a fact she had dried seed between them, but he didn’t seem to mind, penetrating her oh-so-gently with two fingers. Like she was a porcelain doll--well, she as good as was, really. He was muttering about pretty pink, and his fingers curled, making her breath hitch at the sudden pleasure. His eyes lit up, and she cringed internally. It wasn’t pleasurable, it was sick. There was a crazy man between her thighs, and she hadn’t offered any protests at his presence.

“Is that...good?” He whispered, repeating the motion. She closed her eyes, biting her bottom lip. As far as he knew, women didn’t like sex. “It is .” Oh, Christ, he was learning. Pressing up so insistently, urgently.

“Sing for me, darling,” he crooned, “tell me how you love me!”

Her back arched up off the bed, and she could’ve cried, right then. This wasn’t part of the performance, it wasn’t supposed to be. Another thrust, this time much harder, and she tasted blood in her mouth.

Keeping quiet won’t do you any good. If anyone’s here to hear your shame, they’re already dead.

The first moan that slipped out of her mouth was stuttered, slightly, choked.

“ Yes, ” he groaned, increasing his insistence. “Wet, hot, silk , darling, tell them what I do to you.”

She followed his orders, finding it easier as time wore on. “E-Eddie,” she finally managed, after a few minutes. “Please…”

“Yes, darling?” He continued his movements, distracting her. Stop fucking me so hard and I’ll tell you.

“Can...can we--be together? Like we were l-last night? Will you give me your s-seed?”

He hummed, withdrawing his fingers, popping them into his mouth before adjusting his trousers, bringing his face up to hers and going on for a kiss. This time, when he thrust inside her, she mourned the pain of the night prior. The pain had rationalized it--of course it hurt, he was a psychopath. She didn’t feel as bad about what she was doing. Now, however, his way was helped by her traitorous cunt, sopping wet from his efforts. Once again, he buried his face in her neck, sucking and licking and abusing the skin, and she threaded her fingers through his hair. She framed his hips with her knees and rose up to meet every thrust, keeping up the shallow moans that were now part of her performance.

That time, when he finished, he hovered over her, grinning.

“We’re perfect together,” he purred, and an empty smile graced her lips as she reached up, holding his cheek.

“Yes,” she agreed, “perfect, my love.”

He fell asleep again, but she stayed awake, staring at the wall while he held her close to him. She realized, then, and she wasn’t sure how, that he wasn’t ever letting her change out of that dress. Bride and groom, forever and always.

No, not always. She was leaving this place, and he would fucking carry her through the doorway.

__

She half thought he might slip back into a delusional state which harkened for another bride, but in the end, he surprised her.

He decided that his bride was the only soul worthy of drawing breath. Those other whores, as he’d phrased it oh-so-elegantly, were an affront to their union. She didn’t have it in her to argue, as he explained while plunging into her yet again. She wasn’t sure how long it’d been since their laughable ceremony, but the time tended to pass in rounds, rather than hours. Her thighs were a sore mess, which he noticed after the fuck where he told her of his new ideation.

Once he’d climaxed within her, adding to the unpleasant layering of depravity, he slipped down to observe the pink he’d called so pretty however long ago that had been. He frowned at what he saw, and then smiled, putting his lips to the inside of her thigh.

“We’ve been ravenous,” he hummed, apparently pleased at the sight of her destruction. Of course, it had come from his own efforts, so his pride wasn’t unfounded. His gaze found hers from his position, and he gave her a wicked smile. “Let’s get you freshened up, hmm?”

She’d swung her legs over the bed and stood only to buckle, holding the mattress tightly. He was at her side in an instant, yammering with concern. You fucked me into ruin, she wanted to say, but instead, found his eyes.

“We’ve been ravenous,” she repeated, and then considered before biting her bottom lip. “Honey,” she began, measured, “would you please...perhaps...carry me?”

He chuckled, swinging her up in an instant. “Always,” he promised, and she sighed, resting her head on his shoulder. Christ, but it was tiring, playing chew-toy to a psychopath hell-bent on knocking her up. His refractory was depressingly marvelous.

Once they were in the bathroom, he took the time to undress her himself, and then held her under the shower spray, running his hands over every inch of her, chasing skin with his eyes. She kept hers closed, abandoning her body in favor of a blank space, a space devoid of calloused hands and bruises and soft kisses and teeth and hard-dried cum on her skin. It was a peaceful space, characterized only by absence.

He undressed her in the gown, confirming her fears, and took her once more into his arms. “We have so much to do,” he enthused, “before the baby comes.”

She blinked and then smiled, as her plan rushed towards her all at once.

“Yes,” she agreed. “Before the baby comes. Where should we start, my love?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There she goes.

Hey, whatever you want to say about Eddie Gluskin, never claim that he’s not good at achieving his goals.

His initial goal, of finding a bride, had been met. In the interest of keeping on his good side, Victoria had been doing an exquisite job of playing into his ideal woman. She was sweet, she was adoring, she kept her thighs open and her lips on his skin. She was everything he desired, and every time he released inside of her, he felt like he came closer to getting the children he wanted, as well.

His newest goal, children aside, was splitting the world open and ripping away everything he felt stood in the way of his nuclear family. He stuck to his old killing rituals, and Victoria wondered why he retained them. Above the knee, below the navel, sliced and sewn on Gluskin’s table. To make a place to push inside, the groom will find himself a bride. The problem was, he already had a bride, and did more than enough pushing for Victoria’s entire lifetime--short though she felt it may be. She thought it was to retain the fact that they were unworthy whores-- he could have what he wanted from them, but had instead had found something superior. Victoria would roll her eyes at herself at that train of thought--how romantic, the psychopath prefers me. But then, perhaps it was romantic if she was in love with being alive. Which was, at this point, debatable.

She’d found a new position, for her days. At first, she had been repulsed, every inch of her tightening reflexively at the idea. After the first time, though, she relaxed considerably. He told her--

“Their screams repulse me, darling. I would prefer to hear no voice but your own for the rest of my days.”

So, he shoved the gag in their mouths, and she would sit near their heads, running her fingers through greasy, matted, close-cut hair, humming over the muffled screams while Eddie performed his surgeries. Sometimes, she kept her eyes closed. Sometimes, she would watch.

He left her behind while he hung them, claiming that it was a man’s work--as were the actual killings, thankfully--and she wandered through the vocational block, formulating her plans more astutely, practicing conversations with him to get her the best results possible. She could have tried running, while he was gone, but she’d already accepted that he was dying or they were leaving together, and every time he came back, death seemed more and more unlikely. Besides, her increasingly blood-stained, cum-stained, and generally just filthy gown was increasingly impractical to run in.

She didn’t know how long it had been, didn’t really bother with tracking time. Time was meaningless, she measured her life in breaths, in thrusts, in gasps.

“I know I’ll have to be patient,” he murmured, lips against her bare stomach. “I simply cannot wait to be a father. I’ll be a better man. Better than...I’ll be a wonderful father.”

She hummed, decisively or affirmatively, and ran her fingers through his greasy, blood-slick hair.

The next morning, while he was dozing beside her, she shoved her fingers down her throat until she was retching over the side of the bed, mostly stomach acid, some meager rotten food. She was starving, but again, her measurements were so minuscule she hardly noticed. He fed her, sometimes. Brought canned goods like he was a messiah. And wasn’t he just?

It took him a moment to realize, coming around with a groggy call. “Darling? Oh--oh, darling .”

She steeled herself, finish her final wet cough as the acrid smell assaulted her, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

“Oh, Eddie,” she breathed, turning. “You know what this means, don’t you?”

“It’s much too cold in here, you must be…”

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, she grabbed his hand, forcing it onto her stomach and an ethereal smile onto her lips.

“Pregnant,” she breathed. His fingers tightened on her flesh, and after a moment, his head dropped between her legs. She gasped, feeling his mouth attack her cum-stained, raw cunt, kissing and sucking at the flesh with a magnitude of reverence she never thought she’d observe. She parted her knees, and the layers of fabric fell over his head as he disappeared under her gown. He didn’t care, he continued frantically, and she let her back arch off the bed.

He didn’t stop for a very long time, and by the end of it, she was dozing off. She did so to his soft mutterings to her stomach-- Be kind to your mother, now, she’s gone through so much to bring you into this world...and she’ll go through such hell bringing you to her arms. One last soft kiss and she fell asleep with a smile on her lips, which still tasted putrid.

Got ‘em.

__

She found herself sitting on a table in his grand sewing room, decorated by broken furniture and residual gore from the bottom of shoes, while he stitched grotesquely tiny clothes. There was light, through the windows, and she wondered if Park was out soaking up the sun, holding his children close, kissing his wife. Fucker.

Or maybe, and this was likely, he was dead. Horribly dead, murdered by a psychotic patient or a fog-ghost. She was much better off, just trapped in an endless cycle of psychotic appeasement wherein she pretended to be the pregnant wife of a mentally ill man with big muscles and a knife. Sorry, a scalpel.

Well, the wife part wasn’t pretending. By the laws of the asylum, they were far from living in sin. Eddie was humming, something chipper, something you might hear pass through the varied mouths of a barbershop quartet. Wasn’t half bad, either, better to listen to than heinous screams or the distinct, wet sounds of post-mortem mutilation. He glanced up from his work--tying ropes around the feet of corpses--and smiled.

“Darling, might you like to come to work with me? It won’t be too long now until you’re too big to do much of anything--best we enjoy our alone time.”

Oh, she’d agreed, yes, that would be wonderful. Wonderful indeed, she got to walk beside him, train dragging on the floor beside the bodies he was pulling. With each step, she was reminded how they very well could have been her--a chromosome away from certain death. She could’ve laughed. She could have laughed, while she walked beside a serial murderer.

I need to get out of this place.

Her internal monologue wasn’t helping in the slightest, so she packed it away, zipping up the case she’d open later, in therapy.

The gym was an intense microcosm of Gluskin’s issues, reeking to high heaven, raping her every sense. He was still humming, always so chipper. He led her to the side and then started hauling his corpses in, stringing them up in a way that made her shiver. She forgot--it was easy to forget--that he was strong. Far more strong than was fair, far stronger than her.

Afterward, when he’d added the latest streamers to his party room, he offered her his elbow and suggested that they go for a stroll. Ever the dashing gentleman, Eddie Gluskin, taking his little wife for a walk. She cringed, trying to swallow the bitterness back down, but it didn’t help. Her teeth must’ve been rotting, for all the time she’d spent trying to clean them with tinny water, and if they hadn’t been from the sheer neglect, she was sure that every time he kissed her he took a bit of her health, a bit of her sanity.

Leading her, he moved barricades and barriers like they were nothing. They strolled through the “chapel” they’d been married in, past the mutilated witnesses, pacing through Eddie’s domain as Eddie himself had done many times before. He came to pause before a window, admiring the desolate, foggy view, and her gaze dragged across the bloodstained wall. A slight breeze flapped the miserable curtain over her window--her window, her escape opportunity. It was no less appealing than it had been, but she forced herself not to linger.

Eddie opened his mouth to speak, and she was already planning her next move, but they were both interrupted by the sound of footsteps--followed by a scream.

“Eddie?” She knitted her brow, turning to him. His jaw locked as he released her, glancing in the direction of the disruption.

“Wait here, darling. I won’t be a moment.”

With that, he took off, and she nearly pitied the poor soul--but she pitied herself more. Gluskin was a liferaft. He might’ve been made of knives strung together by rotting flesh, but he was a raft, and he’d just left her in the ocean. The ocean. Fuck . She could’ve killed herself.

She was a swimmer, wasn’t she?”

She went for the window, that time, and could’ve killed herself again. It wasn’t nearly as dire as she’d thought it was--and there was a fucking ledge for her to ease onto, for god’s sake. As she slid down it, eventually rolling on the floor, the ground felt and tasted like freedom--it was good.

She didn’t stick around so that Eddie could properly witness her betrayal. She left her false vows right there, tearing the dress something awful as she scrambled towards the door of a new building. Hopefully, Park had run into all the traps for her--wasn’t that a thought? Maybe she should have apologized to him when he left her with the groom.

__

She didn’t miss the groom. She didn’t miss his singing. She didn’t miss being an accomplice to murder.

She did miss her flashlight.

And shoes.

And pants.

The asylum seemed to close in on her with every step she took, aiming to condense around her until it was her skin, and there was nowhere to go, no way to escape it. She couldn’t go into another room without getting further inconvenienced, misdirected, disheartened. She was never good with puzzles, Park had been the puzzle guy, but Park was a bastard.

She winced, tugging her dress with her as she squeezed through a barricade, blinking to adjust to the dark--hold on. She could see light. A computer, maybe? No, no--she pressed forward, and it wasn’t a sardonic blue blink, oh no, this light was yellow and sang of freedom. She picked up the pace, stumbling over books, knocking her ankles on a filing cabinet--a window! And she knew damn well that she was close to the front, she had to be.

She’d do what she set out to do--she would take Murkoff down. She’d have to shuck the psychotic wedding dress, but if she could keep her head on straight, she could get the cops down there. What they’d do about the Walrider...well, hell, maybe a little more than the cops, but someone had to know how to undo Murkoff’s dirty.

She passed a door identical to many others--polished wood infringed upon by bloodstains, cracked, splintered, unimportant. She wasn’t on top of her game, her ears were stuffed full of pure white hope, thicker than cotton. The door slammed open and it caught her, and she gasped, the impact and the shock shoving her into the opposite wall.

“You whore !”

It was a nightmare. It had to be a nightmare. Because Eddie fucking Gluskin couldn’t connect the presence of a penis to sexual incompatibility, let alone track her through the whole goddamned hospital.

But the whole thing had been a nightmare, anyway, so there he stood. Bloody, panting, sinister. She pressed her back against the wall, staring up at him. She struggled to find a plan, somewhere in her brain, but her thoughts were all but a skipping CD, stuck repeating the phrase ‘Oh no!’ into eternity.

He sank down onto the floor, crawling towards her like an animal, pinning her with his frame. Knees around her hips, weight keeping her down. His hand shot up and clenched her jaw like a vice, and she was reminded of him grunting through the lyrics of his twisted songs, hauling corpses up like they were paper dolls. She could feel that strength in him. She could see it in his eyes, among the blisters, through the blood. He was practically frothing at the mouth, face hardly an inch from hers.

“You’re just like the rest of them,” he seethed. “Traitors, all of you. Ungrateful. I wasn’t enough for you?! Didn’t I provide? Wasn’t I patient ?” His grip tightened with each word, his other hand coming to clamp around her throat with equal force. Her head, still a skipped record, was now able to understand that she couldn’t breathe--far too well, actually. “Ah, but I know your type .” He was spitting with every word. He kept the hand at her throat, keeping her struggling, but he abandoned her jaw.

Instead of reaching for his knife, he fumbled, tugging her dress up, bunching it around her waist. “All you can think about is desire! You’re an animal! Don’t worry darling, I vowed to always give you what you need. I tried to treat you kindly, but you only know this !”

He loosened up a bit as he was distracted with his fly, and, sobbing for breath, she started to struggle. At once, he backhanded her, growling.

“Enough!” He roared, grabbing a fistful of her hair and yanking, pulling her head up as he crashed his forehead against hers. A bit of shifting, and he was thrusting blindly. She could hardly protest, still struggling for air, writhing and gasping with the sheer pain. He tore her open like the deranged sadist he was, and she was the animal.

Having her by the throat, as he did, and now mouthing sloppily in the general area of his mouth, he was distracted. As he fucked her against the wall, her hand scrambled, searching blindly, looking for anything-- ha. Her fingers closed, madly, around something. Could have been a paperweight, could have been a rock, could have been anything, she didn’t care. She brought it up and slammed it into his head.

Now, she was no Eddie in terms of strength, but Mrs. Gluskin had surprise on her side, and pure, unadulterated rage.

“You bastard !” She screamed, continuing her assault, knocking him off her and backward and yet she still kept going, tossing all manner of obscenities her way. She screamed for her wedding night and every night after, for Park’s betrayal and Murkoff’s upheaval.

It wasn’t enough to kill him. She knew that--told herself that. It really couldn’t have been that long, when she stumbled backward, allowing her blood-slick weapon to fall from her grip. She ached, her lungs burned, her scalp screamed with the bitter sear his attention had left behind. He’d bit her lip open, but it hardly mattered. She’d taken her pound of flesh.

She turned, and began her walk to the window. Her gait was jagged, stuttered, indicative of hardy abuse, but she paid it no mind. She pulled up her skirt and continued.

There was no relief when she noted that she was right--it was the entrance. She lowered herself with absolute composure, and there was no graciousness, no victory, only the sense that if she hadn’t made it to the entrance she would’ve snapped, gone back, and murdered Gluskin with nothing more than her fingers. She didn’t let her mind analyze that at all, she kept going.

There was a jeep, standing out against the various military vehicles. It looked new, it looked out of place--it looked promising. She heard the front doors open, and suddenly...suddenly it looked very far away.

Waylon Park--by the mop on his head--came limping out, and he was much closer to the car than her.

“Way-Waylon!” She shouted, voice hoarse. He looked over at her and seemed to startle, picking up the pace. “No! No, Waylon, wait! PARK!”

She tried, she really did, but she was freshly fucked and in a wedding dress. He made it first, slamming the car door. She threw herself over the hood, beat her fists on it, but he pulled back, and she was kissed by the ground. She screamed again, watching him go, fingernails shredding on the pavement. She felt suffocated, in the mid-morning air, horribly horribly suffocated.

Eventually, her soul-searing sobs died down, and she was left motionless on the ground. Her broken record brain changed tracks, suddenly. There was no more how, no more when, no more why. There was only this, this crippling certainty. She wouldn’t be leaving the asylum.

If her head had a chance, maybe it would have sorted itself out. Maybe the fresh air would have helped, maybe she could have figured out a new plan. But insanity tugged at her skirt, and she turned.

Eddie Gluskin, face broken and bloodied beyond any scrap of recognition, crawling.

“Darling, ” he managed, spitting out blood as he did so. “ Darling, why did you run from me?”

She sucked in a breath, turning onto her elbows as he crawled his way up her body.

“Eddie, my love,” she sighed, after a moment, bringing the hand slick with his blood up to lightly caress one split, bruised cheek. “Isn’t it a wonderful morning? Do you think, once the baby comes, we could have a picnic? Out in the grass?”

He held her dress tightly, and she observed him for what he was.

Her liferaft, her groom.

Her husband.


End file.
